


What's one more?

by woa



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27125539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woa/pseuds/woa
Summary: What's one more death to someone who can't stay dead?
Kudos: 19





	What's one more?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually getting a tattoo right now. Enjoy this one-shot of a random I've never posted in. please don't ask about any of my other works.

Nathan stared down from the rooftop at the fence that once impaled him. He died that day. He came back. He died that day... he died. He takes a shuddering breath, feet dangling off the edge. One wrong move and he would die. Again. But what’s one more death to someone who always recovers?   
Everytime he dies he comes back to life, perfectly healthy. He came back, that first time days later. After his own funeral in a coffin. He remembers falling; he remembers dying; he remembers waking up in the dark. Nathan shakes his head frantically trying not to remember how he felt in his coffin, suffocating again and again. He died that first time, impaled, then he came back and died over and over and over and over... until his friends showed up.   
He played it off then, joked about it, whined about how uncool his power was. Because that’s all he was; he was the one who talked too much, the foul-mouthed smart aleck, the annoying gob who didn’t take things seriously. So he laughed it off, but that feeling of suffocating never really left.   
It never left and it became unbearable. One night soon after his miraculous return Nathan couldn’t sleep, so he went for a walk. He walked right by a mugging by accident. Wrong place, wrong time. The mugger noticed Nathan and promptly shot him in the chest. He died. Morning came. He recovered. No bullet wound, just stained clothes and a puddle of blood. Nathan hurried away. The pain stayed though, an echo of the bullet piercing his chest; but he could breathe again. The feeling of suffocating was gone.

Days later Nathan stood in the middle of the community building at 3 a.m. In front of him hung a rope he found and fashioned into a noose. The phantom pain in his chest was still there, throbbing in time with his heart. The next morning when everyone else came in the rope was gone and Nathan’s neck was sore. 

Nathan stood up and leaned forward over the edge. What’s one more death to someone who can’t stay dead?


End file.
